Ricochet Rocket
by Evanescent Darkness
Summary: Otto Rocket as a secret agent. It's kinda corny, but hey, it's something to read when your bored. (A Teen RP fic)


Ricochet Rocket: Secret Agent   
  
10:37 A.M.  
Headquarters  
  
Many think being a "super secret agent" is an easy job. Well, listen up kiddies, this job's only for the ones who can make it on the cold streets of L.A. with nothing but the clothes on their backs. It's a dirty world out there, but someone has to keep it semi-clean. That person would happen to be me.  
My video-phone rang as I quickly paced through the crowds on the main hall. "Yeah," I answered briskly as I opened the cover. "Good morning agent Rocket. I have a message for you from Mr. Goodfeather," Ms. Barrie informed me. "Okay," I said, hinting for her to go on. Mr. Goodfeather is my boss, so to speak. He appeared on the screen. "Rocket, I have a job for you. I need you to get some information for me. There is a person called 'West Wind' Sandalwood. I need all the information I can get on this person. I've tried getting it on the system, but it's all private and blocked out. So I need you to get it for me," he said with a stern English accent. The rest he told me in Latin, since I am, after all, a "secret" agent.   
So I had to head for Haaklenburg, Norway, to find this "West Wind" guy. My secret identity was Eric Keller. I, "Eric," was a Greek psychiatrist. I wish Goodfeather would have given me a better fake job.   
  
Haaklenburg, Norway  
6:45 P.M.  
  
I landed in Norway, still thinking about how to find West Wind. I mean, what kind of name is West Wind? He's evidently Indian. Before I set out on my search, I had to land a place to stay. I looked at the small slip of paper Goodfeather gave me. It was all written in Latin, so no one would know who had written it, since Latin is a dead language. "The Yarnbury Hotel, 5104 Jurrkun St." I waved down a cab and headed that way. "So, you on vacation, mister?" asked the Norwegian with a thick accent. "Yeah," I answered bluntly. I was trained to avoid speaking to strangers as much as possible. He hummed an unfamiliar tune as he drove down the crowded streets of Haaklenburg.   
Finally, he stopped in front of the hotel. "That will be twenty-five, sir," he asked for the fare. I gave him thirty and told him to keep the change. I pulled my jacket tightly around me as I walked through the fog towards the entrance of the hotel. As I walked through the spinning doors, I was hit instantly with a whiff of french vanilla coffee and mocha java. I sauntered up to the receptionist's desk. "I reserved a room, Eric Keller," I told her. She gave me a look as if I had just pulled out a gun. She said something, but I couldn't understand her, the language unfamiliar. The answer hit me. What was I thinking? These people can't speak English. As soon as I figured out my mistake, a guy started to walk up to me. He looked my age, with strawberry blonde hair, hanging in his face. "Rocket," he said in Latin, "Goodfeather sent me to help you. I see you're kind of rusty with your Norwegian. I'm agent Rodriguez. I'm still guessing you 'Ricochet' Rocket?" I nodded. He was one of my back ups.  
"A reserved room for Eric Keller," he told the receptionist in Norwegian. She told him something I couldn't understand. "Room 477, fifth floor," he explained in Latin. You always use Latin when you're talking to a fellow agent in public.   
"So, for what reason did Goodfeather send you here?" I asked Rodriguez. He turned around and looked back at me with a crooked smile. "You forgot one thing before you left to come here, Ricochet. You don't know the first thing about Norway, or speaking Norwegian." I thought for a minute. "I've never had any problems before. I know at least seven different languages." "That's not the point. Besides, Goodfeather wanted me to come in to help you. He thinks this West Wind is going to be a tough cookie to crack. She's pretty hard core, I hear." I was stunned. "She? West Wind's a she? What does she owe Goodfeather?" I asked erratically. "Maybe he lost a date with her when he was in England," Rodriguez said sarcastically.   
"Really," I said, thinking about the girl I had left at home in L.A. Rodriguez must have sensed my feelings. "Miss Savannah?" "Always," I answered. "So, when are you two gonna get hitched?" he asked, as if he cared. "We're really getting off the subject here." He shook his head. "So, where do we begin tomorrow? You're the expert." We decided to start at her work place, Cassavanna Blvd. Mocha Java Stop. Our journey would begin tomorrow at eight AM.   
  
8:15 A.M.  
Cassavanna Blvd. Mocha Java Stop  
We walked in the Mocha Java Stop, I ask Eric Keller, Rodriguez as Carlos Arbuela. I slowly paced up to the counter. I was rusty on my Norwegian, but Rodriguez taught me how to order two Mocha Lattes. "Two Mocha Lattes," I told the girl behind the counter. Within a few minutes, she handed me the mocha lattes, I paid, and strolled over to the table which Rodriguez was sitting. "Act normal, as if you come in every morning. We'll sit here for about ten or fifteen minutes, then we'll ask for her," Rodriguez informed me. I nodded in agreement. "Do you know what West Wind's real name is?" I asked him. "No. Just ask for Miss Sandalwood." "What if she's married? Then she'd be a Misses." "Just ask for Miss Sandalwood."   
I walked to the counter and asked the girl if I could speak with Miss Sandalwood. She gave me an odd look, evidently she didn't understand my rusted Norwegian. I asked a few more times, and finally, she understood. "What is your name? I need to tell Miss Sandalwood," she stated, I barely understood. "Eric Keller." She perambulated her way through the double doors, evidently leading to her office. A few minutes later, she came back empty handed. "Please state your business, Mr. Keller. Miss Sandalwood cannot waste her time with nonsense." I was getting frustrated. "Business is exactly what I need to discuss. It's confidential. Only she and I can discuss it." The ill-tempered java maid waddled back through the double doors. The next time she came back, she came assisted with a tall, thin, fair skinned woman, with long black hair.   
"May I help you, Mr. Keller?" she asked. "Yes, you must be Ms. Sandalwood. I'd like to discuss something with you, just for a minute, if you don't mind."   
I talked to her for a few minutes, sucking every bit and piece of information I could get out of her. Now, I had one more thing to do to complete my mission.   
Her real name was Rosalyn Sandalwood. Her reason for being called "West Wind" was this: "I grew up on the east coast as a girl. I always wanted to go out west. My nick name was 'Windy' because I also loved the wind. So they happened to start calling me 'West Wind.'" She had kept that nickname all her life, some how hard to believe. I still couldn't figure out what Goodfeather wanted with her. I recorded all the information she had given me on a pocket recorder. I never thought that thing would come in handy. I think West Wind had a thing for me, but I was taken. I had a girl back home. That was the particular reason I wanted to hurry and get through with this case. It was my last one for three years. All agents work three years, then get three years off. We always have to retrain after the three year period is over. Back to the subject, I planned out a little surprise I had for Savannah. If I finished this mission quickly, I would have enough time to give her the surprise.  
I flagged a taxi and rode to the hotel alone. It was a chilly, rainy, and foggy day. As gloomy as it could possibly get. Even though I got a lot of information on my subject, the weather matched my mood. That night I called Goodfeather and told him about my day. "So, have I got enough information?" I asked impatiently. "Yes, I suppose so," he replied hesitantly. "So I can go home? For three years?" "Yes. I will see you back at headquarters." He said briskly and hung up. I was happy anyway. I called Savannah. "Hello?" "Hey, I'm coming home, for three years! It's my annual leave." "Oh my God, really? I can't wait to see you. I've missed you." "I've missed you too. This has been my shortest and safest mission ever, only one day. I'll be coming in tomorrow. Well, I need to get some sleep so I'll be able to stay awake when I see you tomorrow." "Okay, I'll see you tomorrow. Mucho amour! Love you." "Love you too, night." And I hung up the reciever.   
I looked out the windows of the plane and saw clouds slowly floating by. I was really happy to finally be going home. Though I was still curious as to what Goodfeather wanted with Rosalyn. I guess I would have to find out when I went to Headquarters. Even if I never found out, I still had a surprise for Savannah when I got home.  
Headquarters  
9:37 A.M.  
  
I arrived at Headquarters around nine-thirty. I called Goodfeather on my video phone. "Ricochet, come to my office," he instructed me. I rode the elevator up to the fifth floor. I went through all of the security measures and finally walked into his office. "Good morning, Mr. Goodfeather. Did you get all the information?" I asked with inquisition. "Yes, I did. Good job, Ricochet." I still didn't get why I needed the information on West Wind. "So, why did you need information on West Wind?" He hesistated for a minute. Goodfeather looked up at me. "She owes me something, some money, my boy," he went on. "For what?" I pressured him. "I bought her a Big Mac from Mc Donald's seven years ago. She owes me three seventy-five!" he guffawed. I was baffled. I was perplexed. I felt like I had gotten drunk all night then hit by a transfer truck. "What?! You mean I went through all that trouble over a Big Mac ?!" I was seriously peeved. "Ah, yes. You can go home now. You have three years free," he stated as if he had just told the world's funniest joke. It was a joke alright. 


End file.
